


Blind Date

by evangelinerose



Series: Theo One Shots & Drabbles [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: But Pretty Vague, F/M, Fluff, Language, Sexual Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22936216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evangelinerose/pseuds/evangelinerose
Summary: Your friend set you up with a blind date for Valentine’s Day. You’re not quite sure why you agreed; and it certainly does not go as expected. Theodore Nott x Muggle!Reader.
Relationships: Theodore Nott/Reader, Theodore Nott/You
Series: Theo One Shots & Drabbles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1638148
Comments: 7
Kudos: 45





	Blind Date

God, you didn’t want to be here.

You drummed your fingers impatiently on the table, glancing around the restaurant.

It was fancy. Too fancy for your tastes. Nothing on the menu had a price in the single digits, the waiters said things like “ _Excellent choice, ma’am_ ” when someone ordered a meal, and just the chandeliers (of which there were far too many–no seriously, someone had really gone overkill on the chandeliers) were probably more expensive than the cost of annual rent for your flat.

To make matters worse, it was stuffed full of googly-eyed, ritzy couples, holding hands or feeding each other or even just full on making out in the candlelight that flickered on their tables. You wrinkled your nose at one couple who looked like they were going to eat each other’s faces off.

Ugh.

Valentine’s Day was such a sham.

A holiday for love and romance? 

You snorted into your glass of the cheapest wine they had, which was somehow still more expensive than any meal you had eaten out in your entire life. 

Yeah. Right. 

It was blatant commercialism, was what it was. Profiting off couples’ needs to flaunt that they weren’t single. 

Complete and utter bullshit, in your opinion.

Whenever you said things like this, people assumed that you were just a woman that was bitter about being single, and you hated it. It was offensive.

In fact, that was why you were here in the first place.

Your friend had taken pity on you after she had heard one of these rants of yours the week before, and though you knew she generally meant well, it was still rather insulting when, the next day, she had come to you with the “spectacular” news that she had set you up on a blind date for the evening.

“WHAT?” you had said loudly, staring at her in both incredulity and irritation.

“Please,” your friend had begged, her eyes pleading. “He’s perfect for you. I just know it. And he really wants a date for Valentine’s Day.”

“See, this is how I already know he isn’t perfect for me,” you had told her dryly, rolling your eyes. “I despise Valentine’s Day, and I would, quite literally, rather go on a date any other day of the year.”

She had bothered you about it for three more days before you had finally agreed, more out of pure exasperation and to shut her up more than anything. She could be very convincing when she wanted to be, and besides, you supposed you were going to get free dinner and drinks out of it.

It could be worse, right?

You glanced over again at the couple to see that the woman was lovingly dabbing the man’s mouth with a napkin, like he was a toddler that had taken a bite of his soup and hadn’t been able to control the trajectory. Ew.

It could be worse.

But it definitely could be better.

Where was your bloody date, anyway? He was late, and you were hungry.

Right on cue, a man suddenly walked up to your table.

He was tall and lanky, with dark hair and dark eyes that shone with something like mischief, but were somehow also serious at the same time. Fascinating eyes, really. You found you didn’t want to look away from them.

His features were sharp and angular, enunciating how thin he was.

This sort of place is perfect for him, you thought. A whole lot of money for almost no food at these sorts of places. You swore rich people got off on spending as much as possible for as little food as possible. A status thing, or something.

And there was no doubt that he was wealthy, if his clothes were any indication. Pristine, not a wrinkle on them, but it was mostly the material that gave him away.

Jesus, how did your friend even _know_ him? 

He looked like he _belonged_ in this five star restaurant, and you suddenly felt too aware of yourself–of the red dress you were wearing and how it seemed scruffy and also, bizarrely, the way you were not holding the wine glass by the stem as the rest of the patrons here were, but clutching at it like a commoner.

He did not seem to be thinking along these lines. His eyes trailed you up and down quickly, with interest, but not long enough to be a leer, before he flopped in the booth across from you with a wide, playful grin that was undeniably attractive.

You just stared a moment before clearing your throat.

You hated that he could still fluster you after being so late.

“You’re Jack?” you asked, lacing disdain in your voice was best you could.

He just smiled wider. “Already ordered some wine, I see.”

You bristled. “Yes, well,” you said waspishly, “You’re quite late.”

“On the contrary,” he replied. “I think I came right on time.”

This only incensed you further. He wasn’t going to apologize for keeping you waiting? You had half a mind to leave right now. In your head, you silently cursed your friend to the depths of hell once again.

“Your name?” asked Jack smoothly.

“Y/N,” you said. “But I expected you to know that. Seeing as you were the one that was so eager for this blind date on Valentine’s Day, and all.”

He merely chuckled. It lit up his face and crinkled his eyes at the corners and you swallowed hard, doing your best not to stare. He wasn’t conventionally attractive by any means. But something about him was doing it for you, and that was making it much harder to stay frosty, as you had planned.

“Some details must have gotten lost in translation,” he said lightly, holding up a hand to signal the waiter. “I hate Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh. Well then.” You were unsure what to say to that.

“Judging by the look on your face, you do, too,” he said, looking amused. “Why did you want to come on a date, then, Y/N?” His voice moved like silk over your name. This was all so very unfair, and so you scowled irritably.

“I didn’t,” you said flatly. “But I figured I would get a free meal out of it.”

He laughed again, which you hadn’t been expecting. It seemed that whenever you tried to be as rude as possible, he was only vigorously entertained. “Well, order away,” he said casually, tilting his head to the side to indicate that the waiter was approaching. “Anything you like. Money is no object.”

After the waiter had left, you took another sip of your wine and glanced at him. “It’s not as enticing as you think it is, you know.”

His eyes glittered. “What’s that?”

“You being rich.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Who says I’m rich? Maybe I’m just very generous with this particular meal, on this particular date.” He shot you another grin.

“No. I can tell by looking at you,” you insisted. “Your clothes.”

“Is this your usual first date chatter?” he drawled, chuckling. “Judging people by their clothing? You’re quite a thorny one, aren’t you? What happened to the normal first date introductions, hmm?”

“Boring,” you said decidedly, taking another drink of wine.

He leaned back, observing you now with eyes dancing in merriment. “So you like to skip to the big stuff, is that what you’re saying? Biggest secrets, deepest, darkest fears and vulnerabilities, that sort of thing?”

“Do you have all those things, Jack?” you shot back, well aware that this banter was all a form of flirtation and, judging by his smirk, he knew it too.

“Oh yes,” he lamented. “As for me being rich, you’re not wrong. A pity it doesn’t at least do _something_ for you. We all have to work with the qualities we’ve got, don’t we? And that’s one of the few things I’ve got going for me, you see.”

You just stared at him, slightly surprised. “You’re very honest,” you said finally.

“So are you,” he said, as the waiter came and set down a glass of whiskey, which he raised to you, that ever playful smile still dancing on his lips.

It was then that you heard your name. Faintly, from somewhere else, and looking around, you thought you located the man that had said it. He was at the front of the restaurant, speaking with the host and looking mildly agitated; and then the host turned, with a frown, eyes scanning the room, before seeing you. His eyes dawned in comprehension, and then he pointed.

“Ah,” said Jack, grinning widely. “I think we’re about to get interrupted.” 

You glanced at him. “Wha–”

But you weren’t able to get your question out, because the man that had been talking to the host approached your table, looking distinctly ruffled.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, and then turned his eyes to the man across from you that you were just now realizing was almost certainly not Jack. “Who are you?” he said very disdainfully, eyes darting between the pair of you.

The man that you were now entirely certain wasn’t Jack threw you a mischievous smirk before glancing back up at the real Jack. “Theodore Nott, at your service,” he said pleasantly. “Can I help you with something?”

“Uh, yeah,” said the real Jack, very irritably. “You’re intruding on my date.”

“Oh, that,” said Theodore, as if he hadn’t known it until the other man had said it. “Well yes, I have no intention of stopping that. Unless, of course, the lady asks me to leave.” He rose his whiskey glass graciously in your direction.

“You told me you were Jack!” you hissed at him, somehow both incredibly attracted to him and indignant at the same time.

“Technically, I did not, actually,” he said cheerfully.

“Leave, man,” said Jack, looking furious.

“Oh, of course,” said Theodore, still polite as ever, though his eyes had changed. They had darkened, sweeping over the other man in a way that still radiated that chaotic mischief but also a powerful dislike. “But not on your orders. As I said, the choice is Y/N’s. After all, if I see a beautiful woman sitting alone, waiting on a date that is too rude to show up on time because he was with another woman, I see no reason to stand politely in a queue for her attention.”

His compliment made your cheeks heat; you hastily took a long drink of your wine to avoid answering for a moment, but Jack, your original blind date, was thankfully already talking when you stopped, his fists clenched at his sides. 

“Just because I’m late doesn’t mean I was with someone else,” he snapped. “The _nerve_ of some people, I swear–”

“Oh, quite right,” said Theodore lightly, acknowledging him with another bow of his head. “But you _did_ come late because you were with someone else; or at least, that’s my best guess, judging by the lipstick stains on your shirt collar, the unruly state of your hair, and, of course, the fact that your fly is still unzipped.” He wrinkled his nose. “Also, whoever she was wore some very strong perfume.”

You stared at Jack, eyes flitting about, shocked when you saw all the details that Theodore Nott had been talking about; and then you moved your gaze back to Theodore, mouth open slightly. He grinned at you. “I’m very detail oriented,” he said, correctly reading the look on your face. “One of those other things I have going for me.”

Jack merely scowled and, without another word, turned on his heel and stalked from the restaurant, earning the curious stares of a few other people. Even the horrible making out couple had paused to observe, and you felt your face grow warm. The waiter came then, however, and you had to wait in silence while he set down the plates, snootily wished you a good meal, and then left, before you could finally lean forward and hiss under your breath, “So, _Theodore_ –”

“I do prefer Theo, if you don’t mind,” he said, smiling.

“Fine. _Theo_. When were you going to tell me who you actually were?”

“Oh, surely before we left the restaurant,” he said casually. “I didn’t want to take you on _my_ part of the date without you knowing my name, after all.”

“Your part of the–what are you talking about?”

“Thought we might have a walk along the river.” He began cutting his food elegantly with his silverware, with all the grace of an aristocrat, though he peeked at you furtively once or twice while doing so. “Assuming you want to come, of course. I think my chances are quite good, personally.”

“You’re also very confident,” you told him slowly, shaking your head.

“Not at all,” he corrected. “But I find feigning it sometimes helps, especially in the presence of someone as lovely as you.”

“How are you so detail oriented, then?” you asked, rolling your eyes but smiling despite yourself. “You’re not some sort of secret agent, right?”

Something flashed on his face. Something sad and dark and vaguely, almost, like horror, but it was gone almost as quickly as it had come. His voice was light again when he spoke, but it was more forced than before. “Oh, just something I’ve had to learn over the course of my life,” he said.

Clearly, you had asked a question that touched on something sensitive. Awkwardly, you took another long drink of wine in between eating more of your food. “I’m sorry,” you said finally. “Did I say something–”

“No,” he said quickly, setting down his fork and looking suddenly agitated rather than casual and collected. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. Just a bit of a nasty background. One of the things I _don’t_ have going for me, if you will. Baggage.”

“I can deal with baggage,” you told him.

He smiled. “Is that a yes to that walk after this?”

You shrugged, feeling delightfully buzzed from all the wine and realizing that you were actually having a good time talking with him. It was a nice change, having someone that could keep up intellectually in a conversation. 

But really, you also found that you wanted to spend more time looking at those eyes.

* * *

Theodore Nott–or Theo, as he had reminded you again to call him–was somehow both very open and honest and a little mysterious.

That was one of the things you had found out from your walk together.

You also found out that he liked to be alone, and do quiet things. He liked the stars. He spent most of his time reading, and the topic of books set him off for at least twenty minutes, before he seemed to realize he was rambling and glanced at you a little sheepishly; and that was so utterly adorable that it was at that precise moment that you realized that resisting your attraction to him was futile.

He also had a mansion, and a father he seemed to despise, or at least when that topic was mentioned he pursed his lips and changed it very quickly.

He was witty, and quite funny, and, as you had suspected, clever. Probably too clever for his own good. It was almost difficult to believe that his confidence was entirely fabricated as he had told you, but this was confirmed toward the end of the walk when he went to reach for your hand. And you saw on his face, clear as day, that he expected you to slap him away.

But you didn’t. You let him curl his gloved hand around yours, and you smiled tentatively at him, and his answering grin made your heart dance in your chest.

By the time he had walked you to your front door, you wanted him to kiss you.

“So,” he said, leaning against the door frame when you arrived, crossing his arms.

“So,” you replied teasingly, turning to face him.

“I want to see you again,” he said immediately.

“Me too,” you told him, and you saw it: the tiniest widening of his eyes that betrayed that he had again been expecting rejection.

He swallowed. “I feel that I should give you another reminder,” he said finally, voice low and carefully neutral, “About that baggage.”

“We all have baggage,” you told him.

“Not like this,” he said hesitantly. “It’s…complicated.”

“I’m sure I can keep up,” you said softly, pointedly stepping forward.

“I’ve no doubt about that,” he said. “It’s whether or not you should have to.”

For a long moment, you simply stared at each other. And then his hands came abruptly up to your chin, his eyes ablaze, and your breath caught. 

Good lord, how long had it been since a man gave you butterflies like this? You couldn’t even remember the last time.

“Thank you for intruding on my blind date,” you said softly.

He grinned, mischief in his eyes again, before he leaned down to kiss you.

It was brief–too brief, in your opinion. It was just enough to get your blood running hot and your stomach fluttering and for you to step closer, eager to deepen it and let him kiss you senseless, or, perhaps, bring him upstairs with you, but–

He ended it after only a few seconds of his lips on yours, hovering near your mouth. “I take my time with things I care about,” he murmured, and he smelled like whiskey and cedar. He gently released your face and stepped back, pupils blown up and eyes drinking in your face with appreciation.

“Okay,” you breathed, distinctly flustered. “That’s probably…that’s good.”

He chuckled again, and it was hoarser than before. “Are you available tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” you teased. “Didn’t you know about the three day rule, Theo? That you’re supposed to hide any eagerness?”

He shrugged. “That’s a game, and I won’t play it. I want to see you tomorrow, and I _am_ eager to spend more time with you, and that’s that.”

Jesus, how did he always manage to say the right thing? You just nodded, mouth a little dry at the look on his face, before he leaned forward one more time, to give you another casual peck on the lips. He smiled a little against your mouth when you tried to mold yourself closer, kiss him more, clearly entertained by your eagerness. But he pulled fully away again and murmured, “See you tomorrow, Y/N.” 

And then he was walking away, but not before turning around and glancing at you one last time over his shoulder before turning the corner of the street.

You had a feeling it would take a long time to get to know someone like Theodore Nott, but there was a little ball of excitement in your stomach at the prospect of doing so, which…again, you couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

You made a mental note that you would have to thank your friend.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: language, very vague sexual themes


End file.
